Day After Day
by Kay the Cricketed
Summary: [Post!Series, Gen] In which Jalil is antisocial and has depressing habits, and Christopher makes a general annoyance of himself. Nothing new.


_Day After Day_

by Kay

Disclaimer: Don't own. Have written far too many of these to care if you sue anyway, though.

Author's Notes: Gen drabble-fic, requested for Halloween. Please enjoy! I hope it's at least mildly interesting for you!

* * *

Christopher comes into the tent without calling out, something that Jalil has learned to accept but not to like. It's bad enough that there's no privacy in a camp perched on the edge of a battlefield-- people always weaving in and out, asking him for help, advice, or in Christopher's case, a bitching session on how there's nothing to eat but dry meat that's too tough for his teeth-- but he would at least like a little warning when someone barges into his tent.

It is, of course, Christopher. Jalil feels one must take the actions of an animal with a grain of salt. Or at least a restrained amount of irritated sarcasm.

"I find it insane," he says to the blonde, not bothering to look up from the notes he'd been scrawling over borrowed parchment, "that no one has skewered you for the morale of the camp yet. I can hear you complaining all the way out by the fire."

"_I_ find it insane that you haven't left this stupid tent for three days now," Christopher mutters, slumping onto the hard patch of rock to the left of Jalil's shaky, makeshift cot. He takes off his mud-caked boots and shakes them all over the ground, ignoring Jalil's low growl. "I know you have to, but it must be a late-night operation because I've been watchin' really close and you _don't leave_."

"I'm working on things for David."

"You're a nutcase, that's what you are. I've never met a guy so antisocial. Would it kill you to at least go out and say, 'Hey, nice to know you're all not dead yet!' to the guys out there? I mean, because I sure as hell haven't heard it yet."

"Christopher, I'm glad you're not dead yet. It means I get to kill you myself."

"You _would_, man."

"With pleasure."

"So what are you doing, anyway?" Christopher leans forward in what he must believe to be a subtle fashion, eyes raking down the grid-patterned sheets of parchment Jalil had bartered from one of the Greek warriors milling around outside the tent. "Making more maps? You should get all those things together sometime. Make the Everworld Road Atlas or something. Get rich."

"Christopher--"

"Take the Fairy Road to the land of god-eating bug-people, left on the beehive hill of Hell. Sixty miles to Neptune's waterpark. You'd have people eating out of your hand until you were arrested. Or not."

"It's a calendar, you idiot," Jalil says.

"A what?" Christopher asks, face twisting with confusion. Jalil carefully turns the particular piece of parchment he'd been labeling over so the blonde can see it, all thirty-one boxes with tiny numbers and little notes scribbled in the squares so tiny that he can't read them from even a few feet away.

When he doesn't say anything else, Jalil shrugs and sets it back down. "I've been keeping track of the Old World dates for a long time. I don't like their calendar here, none of these guys really had anything I'm used to. So I've been making calendars every year. This is for next year. It's not like I have anything to do."

Though it's never occurred to Christopher before, the idea seems to catch him like a sharp strike to the gut. "So you know what today is? Over there, I mean?" he demands, eyes unnervingly blue in their intensity.

Jalil hesitates, closes his eyes and thinks. "It's… October 27th, I believe. Four days until Halloween, actually."

"Halloween." It sounds like a foreign word, hovering there between them. "Jesus Christ, Jalil. Man. Halloween."

"I know," and Jalil opens his eyes to smile, not sadly but not with any particular mirth. "It's strange, isn't it? I don't really miss it. We have our share of goblins and witches and monsters here, anyway."

"But the _free candy_."

"… oh god, don't tell me you were one of those guys that went trick or treating even during high school."

"I'll have you know, I had a little brother. It's not my fault my parents demanded I take him out every year."

"I had two little sisters, Christopher. Two little sisters who wore a lot of damn glitter and didn't feel bad about throwing it at me. You think it was bad for you? And I never took free candy, we were _teenagers_, you lunatic."

"Free candy is free candy," Christopher mumbles, and reaches out to snag the calendar sheet from Jalil's lap. Scanning it with distant, lost eyes, he adds, "It seems so long ago. Years, even. I used to put this cackling severed head, you know, in the candy bowl to scare the brats. It was my favorite trick. Really funny, but you had to be careful with the little girls sometimes-- they cried a lot."

"You're a sick, twisted human being." But Jalil is smiling when he says it. "I hated it because I had to take Kira and my baby sister out around the neighborhood. They kept sneaking their candy, though, and messed up their costumes and had sticky hands the entire night. It was horrible."

"Why?"

"Christopher? Sticky hands did not make for a pleased Jalil Sherman."

"Oh. _Oh_. Fuck. Sorry."

"If you ever become tactful," Jalil waves it off, smirking, "the world would be a frightening place, Christopher. Don't worry about it."

Christopher grins with all his teeth bared, clear white against the dirt crusted on his face in swiping fingerprints, and leans against the cot. His hand feels hot when it brushes Jalil's, handing over the calendar sheet once more. Jalil takes it silently, not bothering to snap at him for getting it muddy; they're all surrounded by the earth here, and as much as he hates to admit it, Christopher's scent is damp and comforting, like rain is coming soon. He doesn't want him to leave.

Really, three days _has_ been a long time if he's missing Christopher. Jalil sighs and draws his legs up to his chest.

"Do you ever miss it?" Christopher asks quietly, not bothering to label the place drifting in his mind. There's no need; Jalil sees it, too.

"Sometimes. Not Halloween. But other things, yeah. That's natural."

"Is it?"

"Yeah," Jalil says, and on a whim, "Do you want me to make you a calendar?"

For a moment, Christopher seems to think about it. But Jalil knows the answer before he shakes his head in negative-- they have enough regrets, really, and twelve sheets of paper are heavier than Jalil himself often cares to admit.

_The End_


End file.
